


Fate knows no shame

by Cycian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cycian/pseuds/Cycian
Summary: She hadn't heard from the Inquisitor in years. A letter comes in, and Josephine has a choice to make.





	Fate knows no shame

The letter was delivered by a courier distinguishably serving under Divine Victoria. He knocked on Lady Otranto’s window, promptly delivered the package, not a word to be said.  
Josephine was used to such secrecy when exchanging correspondence with her old friend.  
She closed the window absentmindedly, before opening the package. A letter, and a small box.  
The handwriting caused her to stumble and land flatly on her ottoman.

Shandaub Lavellan’s, unmistakeably.

_My Josie,_   
_ This letter, I hope, this long overdue letter finds you well. You have been on my mind, constantly, unendingly. The wind whipping my face reminds me of your breath upon my skin, in its horrid contrast between harshness and pure, unaltered love. The soft murmur of the sea, as opposed to the aforementioned offensive winds of the cruel plains, brings me great relief, as I know that on the opposite side, resides my heart._   
_ I owe you explanations, I have owed you much in this last year, and I pray the Creators that you have not mistaken my silence for indifference, on the contrary, of all the sacrifices I have had to make, this was by far, the hardest._

_See, I have fought a would-be God, and an actual one from my very own pantheon, but the pain of losing my heart would be naught but a scratch compared to the one of losing you. Though the term would be obsolete, as we would both be inclined to agree._   
_ I let the Inquisition go, I let you go. Because both were better off without me._   
_ My dear Josie, when I learned that you were soon to be married to Otranto, I was weak, I listened to Leliana’s propositions, to Cullen’s brash reactions and call to arms. I was expected to fight for your hand._   
_ But after all, I have never been known to do what was expected to do of me, I am not noble of blood nor heart, but for you, I had to. And though I could not change my birthright, I had to have a noble heart._   
_ The world is not yet ready for change, we have all learned that the hard way, and paid the full price for our presumptuous attempts at it._   
_ Thus, I let you go, and my heart with it._   
_ If only I could only see you one last time, tell you how much you mean to me, but nor Gods nor society know their shame for separating those meant to be together._

_Your family, your blood, is everything to you, and who better than a Dalish elf to know the duty that comes with family, another burden that we must both withstand._

_I remember the day I left. The hidden tears in your eyes, and the daggers’ in Leliana’s, the forced smile carved on your face, like the scars hidden under my many layers of clothing. You know them all, do you not? After many nights of tracing them, as if observing a peculiar work of art, committing them to memory._   
_ Perhaps you too knew that some things are too beautiful to last, like the withering rose at the dawn of a new day. Our story was not meant to end in a warm Antivan villa, cornered by orchards and the sweet smell of the ocean._

_You taught me much, Josephine, not only to read and write, but to love, and in our case, love is setting you free from the shackles that would come with being with me. As much as it pains me to admit it, our love comes with your downfall, and it is my duty as your amor to let you go. To be with Otranto, with your family._

_There are so many things I yearn to know. Though solely the thought of him fills me with dread, I need to know. Does he make you laugh, Josie, like I did? Like that time, we laughed and snorted so loud Vivienne had to make up something about Sera hiring con artists and actors as our doubles of us._   
_ Does he know how to prepare your tea? Equal amounts of sugar and cream with a dollop of familiarity that comes with being loved and accepted completely by your loved one?_   
_ Have you told him about your dolls, about the scraped knees from climbing trees, so unlike someone of your station? Have you told him about your days of being a bard?_

_Or have you silently accepted that this is our destiny, to suffer the wills of other at the detriment of everything that makes us who we are?_

_I must now go, as duty calls, and when your dawn will come, so will my dusk. Let a new day begin, and another one end._

_Do not look for me, my darling one, as we must now carry on with our burdens. But keep that blinding smile, for as long as a sliver of memory of us persists in our minds, we will live on._

_Yours, always. Shandaub Lavellan._

Josephine let the letter fall to the ground, unintended, as she herself sank to her knees. Tears did not come. She had shed them all long ago, along with any hopes of seeing her love again.

She hung her head down in silent supplication, as if the universe would tear a new breach for Shandaub to close again, anything to catch a glimpse of her lover. But she was an adult, and she would endure, as she had, for years now.

The tears did not come the following day, when she opened the package, to reveal a pressed rose, withered, battered.

Their destiny, her lover wrote, was to be apart.

She had fought enough not to wish to fight for their love.

Her passion was lost with her arm.

It had all been written, by whose hand, none could say, for fate knew no master other than itself. Like so many tragedies.

Josie’s fist hit the coffee table, causing a cup to fall and shatter. She did not bother to pick up the pieces.

She grabbed the letter and the rose, pulled them tight to her chest, and left her chambers, candles and hearth still burning, though not as ardently to match her eyes.

The family estate was sound asleep, save for some guards, who eyed her with a mix of surprise and fear.

Josephine went straight to the barracks, swung open the door to the stockage room. She pried open an old, dusty chest, and let her golden dress fall around her.

She produced a weary purse, and took off her jewellery, before tying the pouch around her neck. She struggled with simple lacing and belts.

A cough was heard from behind her.

She whipped around, ready to face whatever plea her husband or family could utter.

Josephine had to lower her gaze to meet Lace Harding’s.  
“It’s been quite a long time, Lady Otranto,”  
“Likewise, Lace. I should have known that our dear friend would spy on my correspondence.” She did not bother to hide her frown. She did not wish for company.  
“She means well.”  
“Doesn’t she always?” Snapped the former ambassador, before turning her back to the dwarf. She gestured to the loose laces and belt. “Are you not here to help?”  
Harding chuckled, and helped Josephine tighten the belts, raising an eyebrow as the Antivan tucked a dagger in her belt.  
“Aren’t you a diplomat?”  
“A good diplomat does not take chances. And I’m a very good diplomat.” Dryly replied Josephine, tying her hair up with simple leather scrap, not musing over greying hair on her temples, for the first time in months.

She led the way to the stables, to find two of them already saddled and ready to go. Twisting her head to ask the dwarf, she was greeted by a shrug, and she blessed just as she cursed Leliana’s foresight.

They rode through the night, Josephine taking the lead. Harding asked once about their destination.  
She didn’t answer.  
Perhaps she asked a few more times. Perhaps she tried to strike up a conversation with the Antivan.  
She didn’t listen.

She was listening to the trees whistling in the night, to the birds chirping as dawn break.  
They reached a bridge a few hours after sun-up. Josephine’s back ached, but her will kept her from stopping.  
But the bandits waiting on the bridge did stop her.

Harding rode forward, talking to them.

Josephine was not paying attention.

An arrow flew past her ear. She heard the crack of the wood behind her, as it stuck the sign indicating a tavern and their destination, the port.

She dismounted, finally hearing Harding’s rudimentary Antivan, attempting to strike a deal with the bandits.

Fully knowing that the scout would have already killed them without her presence, she wearily planted her eyes in the dwarf’s, ignoring the surprise look in them, as she nodded.

Lace threw a knife hidden in her sleeves. One down. Josephine knew better than to stand in the way, and all but leaped behind a boulder.  
It was like reality had suddenly hit her. She could hear the screams, the gargles. A body landed just next to her hiding place. He was still alive. He fell limply next to her.

His eyes burned through hers. From his torn throat, blood bubbled more than poured. He tried to grasp at her forearms, as she put her hands on his shoulders. He tried to speak, in vain.  
Warm blood trickled down her arms.  
“I give you mercy.” She said, detached once again, as the dagger slid from her belt, and across his throat.  
The blood had long gone cold by the time Harding had finished dealing with the bandits.

Josephine did not move. She sat there, eyes as empty as the Deadman’s.

Lace softly shook her shoulders. The ambassador pocketed her knife. Closed his eyes. Got up, mechanically. Just as they were about to resume their travel, an arrow flew just past Josephine, and into Lace’s chest.  
An archer was still standing and had loosed his last arrow on Harding. Without thinking, Josephine crossed the small space separating them. Dagger in hand, she rushed forward. Her bard training kicked in.  
When the first blow from his rusty short sword came, she jumped to the side, and quickly slid her legs underneath him.  
Dust crowned her as she launched herself at him, pushing him over the bridge, and into the tumultuous waters beckoning below.

Not waiting to see him sink and drown, she ran to Harding’s sides.  
“Well, I’ll be damned, you can fight!” Laughed the dwarf, though blood was already foaming at her mouth.  
“And you, apparently, are terrible at counting.” She whistled for the horses, and tried to take out the arrow, though Harding told her not to bother.  
She didn’t seem worried, though Josephine could feel regret and guilt gnawing at her walls of dissociation.

She hastily hoisted the dwarf on her horse, grabbing the other one by the bridle, and softly rode to the nearest inn.

Though Lace did everything in her power to remain stoic, she was beginning to nod off, her forehead covered in a sheen of sweat, growing ever paler.

To keep her awake, Josephine spoke. She said the first things that came to her mind. How she had always known that Harding was special. How great she was. Her mind wandered, and soon, she spoke of Shandaub. Of how she trusted Lace, their shared laughter. How she only trusted the scout to carry the most important missives.

Soon enough, they arrived in the tavern. She handed a stable boy the reins, and rushing in.

Everything went by in a blur. Her friend was carried to a room. Josie paid with some jewellery. A single piece would have paid for the whole inn, and perhaps half of the valley, but she did not care. Thankfully, a rogue mage was staying in the tavern. A former healer. She recognised the tell-tale signs of the Calling in him, from what Blackwall had told her.

She stayed with Lace for a bit. She dwarf stirred, and painfully managed to get a few words out.  
“Please, go and get your girl back. If I hear you tell me about her glorious hair again, I will end my own life.”  
Josephine chuckled at that. Then, it broke into full-on laughter. It had been so long since she had laughed that hard. Shandaub was right, Otranto did not make her laugh. Nothing did, ever since she saw her lover walk out.

She’d left behind the Inquisition, their friends, her clan, her lover.  
Shandaub had the clothes on her back, the mabari Cullen had gifted her.  
Not much else.

That’s also how Josephine left the inn.  
She gave the innkeeper another ring for his trouble. He insisted on giving her some bread, dousing in olive oil.  
The healer had a haunted look in his eyes as he learned that she was on her way to Weisshaupt. He wished her good luck on her travels.

She rode for a few hours, before reaching the harbour. She dropped her necklace in a captain’s hand.  
Josephine collapsed on her cot long before realising that she was sailing with a well-known pirate, whom had served the inquisition, a long time ago.

Isabela’s company was a welcome distraction. The pirate had a knack for always being at the wrong place, at the wrong time, perhaps this was the exception to the rule.

The cold, salty wind whipped her face. She reread the letter, though she had by now memorised it. She imagined her lover, closer than ever.

Josephine knew her lover was in Weisshaupt, along with Hawke, and the Hero of Ferelden. The situation there had gotten dire, according to Leliana’s vague remarks. Josephine had retired from saving the world a long time ago.

Once was enough.

That’s what she had told Isabela, who frequently came and went to assist her lover, Amelia Hawke. The pirate laughed, telling Josephine that she was still headed the same as she was.  
Josephine had interrupted her, she was not like her, not like Leliana. She did not fight, dagger in hand. Her words were her weapon.  
But ever since Shandaub left, she became almost mute, and most certainly speechless.  
Isabela knew she had killed on her way to the harbour. The blood on her leathers, the faraway look… But she too, kept silent.

A few days later, they finally arrived at a port.

They travelled by cart. Isabela told her tales from Weisshaupt. The desolation of the surroundings, the undead rising. The trade withering, the population starving, threatening to storm the wardens’ keep.  
Some had tried.  
And joined the many piles of corpses burning.

She had heard it all before, read it all before. But she had never smelled it. Never heard the cries of the families, recognising one of theirs in the mass graves.

Blood did not show on maps. She had known. Now, she understood.

They arrived at the fortress after a long day of travelling.

Used to the pirate’s presence, they welcomed them with tight lips and frowns.

Isabela led her to the war room. Hawke had been waiting for the Rivaini’s arrival. They shared a kiss that was not meant to be shared outside of private chambers. Josephine’s heart clenched, and could not help but extrapolate on her reunions with her lover.

Would tears be shed? Probably. Screams? Hopefully, she had grown to hate her own silence, but was helpless to stop it. Kisses? Touches? A glance? A lingering scent?  
It would make the trials she had been through worth it.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Amelia, who greeted her with a warm embrace, stiffly returned by the Antivan.  
Josephine did not waste her time with pleasantries. They both had better things to do. Hawke seemed surprised but amused.

Shandaub had been with the Hero of Ferelden, tracking down some of Solas’ agents, who infiltered Weisshaupt.  
The ambassador was sent on her way with a squadron of wardens. When the idea of a cart was brought up, Josephine insisted on riding on horseback. She did not wish to waste time with luxuries.

They were led by a former Dalish elf. She didn’t ask for her name. Apparently, Josephine’s name was not unknown, as proven by a rowdy dwarf musing on her lover’s preferences. She had quietened him with a glance. He guffawed and fell back to annoy a bored-looking archer.

An encampment welcomed them. A frail, old mage was lecturing the Hero of Ferelden, his voice breaking with age, and rage.  
She dismounted with a celerity that left her travel companions dumbfounded, as she strode forward.  
“Where is she?” She demanded.  
The Hero looked up, her face heavily bandaged. One arm in a sling, the other one torn from the elbow.  
Josephine knew Elyssa well. They had shared many bottles of wines and stories at the Montilyet estates and villas. Elyssa knew Josephine well. She had saved Leliana before they met in Lothering.  
And she had kept Leliana sane while she looked for a cure to the Calling.

So, she got up, ignoring Avernus’ ramblings. Silencing him with a wave of her arm.

The Hero’s companions did not follow them when they started climbing up a hill.

It was rather tedious, as Elyssa had to rely on a shaking Josie. She pretended it was the wind, and Elyssa pretended to believe her.

On the hill, a lone tree was standing. It was a pathetic excuse for a tree, its roots coming out of the barren land. Its twisted frame was barely holding up against the wind.  
She saw her.  
Her feet could not carry her.

She struggled against the howling wind, pushing further. She held on to the tree, the bark cutting open her palm. The blood, in its wake, turned the harsh knots into smooth cedar.

Calling out for her lover, she threw herself forward into her lover’s arm, only to land on the ground. An illusion.  
She looked around, panicked, before she saw her.  
“Oh, my love…”  
She was resting. Her eyes closed. Her blood had since long dried.

Though Elyssa had left as soon as the wind picked up, Josephine’s cries were carried, through the barren wasteland, with not even a hint of a breeze to accompany the mournful lament.

Josephine’s voice was coarse. She let herself lay close to her lover. Kissed the chapped lips, preserved by the withering magic.

That is how they had been found. In each other’s arms. Josephine’s slit wrists and the blood that followed had revived the grass around them.  
A letter laid by Josephine’s feet.

When Leliana arrived, she had to be held upright by her lover.  
Shandaub had saved Elyssa during an ambush. It had taken half a day to track her to the tree, but it was impossible to get anywhere near her. The wind would pick up instantly, and knock her on her feet.

Shandaub Lavellan had been taken.  
By Josephine’s feet, a letter awaited. Hastily written.

_My dearest friend._   
_ I think that you understand best what I did what I did. The heart knows its reasons, that reasons itself does not._   
_ Please, wipe away from your mind the image which will greet you, the last one you will have of me, as it will do none of us justice._

_Do not weep, or at least, excessively, as this is not something to be mourned, but celebrated. I am, last, reunited with my lover. Is it not a beautiful ending to a tragedy? Forever with the woman I love._

_We could never have been together in life, so we shall be in death._

_Dry your tears, and ready your voice, my nightingale, as I hope you will sing our stories._   
_ Remember the times we danced on tables, when were defied torn apart skies and would be god with an irreverence that would make any shudder. Remember our laughter, our late nights at the war table. Our victorious roars. Remember us this way, for as such were our lives._

_And though our death contrasts with the lives we have led, I think you know this more than I do, none of us were really living._   
_ Some things are not meant to be, some things are not meant to last. Like roses, we whither, and die. Let us whither here. Let our remains feed the world around us._

_My friend, I will remember you most fondly. My sister. May you find the peace you have rightfully deserved, and may the Dread Wolf never catch the drifting note of your last song._

_When my dusk comes, so will your dawn._

_Your friend, your sister,_   
_ Josephine Lavellan_


End file.
